I want to sell all of our things on Craigslist and leave this cow-town with my typewriter and your polaroid. I want to find a city that sleeps during the day and is awake during the night. I want to get lost in a mosh pit of crazies even crazier than us. I want to paint exactly what I am feeling and expose our secrets through the keys of my Hermes. I want to swing dance like my cowboy ancestors did in Wyoming as you play the accordion that your Polish dad taught you to play during chilling winters in Wisconsin. I want to hear raw stories that transport me to a world I’ve never known and feel air go up my dress as I wear the shortest one I own.
And I want you to photograph it all for the archives. For those who will learn from history books that our generation never really lived at all. To prove that some of us did. Glow sticks under dark skies, stripped of the material world, we became souls with unlimited expression. And they can too.